"Did he say what it unlocked?"
"No.But I've spent six months figuring it out. Digital vault, maybe offshore, probably containing thirty million in skimmed funds plus transaction records for every dirty dollar he moved through Markovic channels."
Logan's expression doesn't change, but something sharpens in his eyes. "Thirty million."
"That’s a conservative estimate. Could be more."
"And the transaction records would show…"
"Everything. Including, apparently, forty years of Delgado money laundering."
We stand in silence, both calculating implications. Downstairs, Gabriel is probably still in Logan's office, staring at evidence of his father's betrayal. The man I'm falling for is melting in his family's crimes while I stand on the roof telling his best friend secrets I should have told him.
"What do you want?" Logan asks. "The money? The records? Revenge?"
"I wanted to be free. That's all. Take the money and disappear somewhere the Markovics couldn't find me."
"Wanted. Past tense."
I think about Gabriel's hands teaching him to chop onions. The weight of his arm around me during last night's dinner. The way he said grace with his eyes open.
"Now I don't know what I want."
Logan hands the ring back. "Reyes invited you somewhere, didn't he? During your meeting today."
Jesus, how does he know that?
"Friday evening. His house."
"You'll go. We both will. I'll be your business associate, someone helping you navigate Julian's complicated estate." He straightens. "And then we'll figure out how to crack this vault without destroying everyone we care about in the process."
"Why are you helping me?"
"Because Gabriel needs you. This family needs you. And whatever you've been doing under the Marin name — you clearly need us too." He turns toward the door. "Also, your cooking might just be the only thing that will keep everyone sane, and I'm practical enough to protect my assets."
21 - Gabriel
My father’s estate sprawls before me, unchanged despite everything that’s shifted inside me. The fountain in the circular drive still sprays water that catches morning light. Bougainvillea climbs the walls in violent pink cascades.
Inside, the house smells of leather and lemon oil and something indefinable that means home. But underneath it now, creeping from the direction of the master suite, the sharp bite of antiseptic and the sweet rot of slow dying. My footsteps echo on marble floors I learned to walk on. Family portraits line the hallway, my mother's eyes following me from every frame.
Father's bedroom door stands open. What used to be the master suite has become a medical ward dressed in luxury. The four-poster bed remains, surrounded by the machinery of dying. IV stands flank it like chrome sentries. Monitors beep steadily, tracking heartbeats and oxygen levels. A morphine pump sits within reach, its digital display glowing green.
My father lies propped against silk pillows, diminished but not defeated. The illness has carved away flesh, left him gaunt, but his eyes remain sharp as cut glass. His cologne, the same Tom Ford he's worn for decades, can't quite mask the smell of mortality seeping through his pores.
"Gabriel." Not surprised. Jorge Delgado is never surprised. "About time."
I close the door behind me. "They broke into her home, Papa. Stole her things. Followed her car. These are your partners?"
His eyebrows lift slightly, the most emotion he'll show. "Her? Interesting. Sit. Then tell me what the hell you’re talking about."
I remain standing, my jaw tight from holding back more than I mean to say. "The Markovics. Emilio Rosetti just showed us the whole operation, so don’t try to deny it. Fifteen years of their money flowing through our accounts."
"Why would I deny that?" He reaches for water with a hand that trembles slightly. I don't help. He wouldn't want me to. "The relationship is profitable. Stable."
"They're criminals."
"So are we." The bluntness would be shocking if I hadn't grown up hearing it. "Don't pretend you didn't know, mijo. You knew exactly what paid for your education, your suits, your life before that collar."
